Sometimes... but for the most part I'm willing to forgive myself or, at least push these regrets to the back of my mind where they can't bother me anymore.

In one of his seminal works, “Mystery Train: Images of America in Rock 'n' Roll Music”, Greil Marcus dedicates a chapter to one of the fathers of Blues: Robert Johnson. In it he writes that “Johnson’s vision was of a world without salvation, redemption or rest; it was a vision he resisted, laughed at, to which he gave himself over, but most of all it was a vision he pursued (Marcus, “Mystery Train”, pg. 21).”

He later goes on to quote F. Scott Fitzgerald, who enlightens us to the very prospect of life: (it) is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat, and that the redeeming satisfactions are not ‘happiness and pleasure’, but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle (Marcus, “Mystery Train”, pg. 25).”

To be alive presents us with the opportunity to struggle for redemption. It’s ultimately not about whether we find it, but that we possibly can, and can move towards that end. Death necessarily divorces us from the opportunity to find that redemption. And it certainly does not provide us any recourse to stop others from further dishonoring us after death. Death before dishonor is just death. And there’s no honor in that.